The frequently inane ramblings of one who isn't always right, but is never actually wrong, either. Topics included might be political, theological, gastronomical, sexual, or even motorcycle-related. All I can guarantee is that ... on second thought, if you want a guarantee, go buy a bloody toaster, and leave me alone!

About Me

Sunday, July 07, 2013

I’ve
been asked more than once how long I’ve been a Buddhist, and even more
frequently, what is means to follow Zen Buddhism. The answers are at once
simple and complex, much like Zen itself. So, for the benefit of anyone who
cares to know the answers (good luck on the latter!), keep reading.

Looking
back, I have to acknowledge that I was a follower of Zen long before I ever
heard the word; probably all my life. I grew up in the Baptist church, and was
regularly regaled with the story of a loving Creator’s promise of eternal
torment if I failed to recognize and publicly acknowledge the singular divinity
of the Father/Son/Holy Spirit trinity. This was enough of a paradox to raise
questions in my mind; questions that were amplified by the pronouncements of
people who implied that they had an intimate relationship with that Creator,
and were therefore qualified to pronounce “His” judgment via proxy.

Like
the deacon who caught me smoking a cigarette behind the church and pronounced
that my descent into hell was inevitable. My expletive-enhanced response to him
elicited a “visitation” with me and my parents in our home that very afternoon.
Thankfully, my mother withheld the inevitable punishment long enough to ask me
why I had said such a terrible thing… to a grownup,
and a deacon, no less. When I told
her, she not-so-politely challenged the deacon, and invited him and his fellow
elders to leave her home. I got punished for my response, of course, but the
greater lesson was learned from her defense of her child.

What
really sealed the deal and convinced me that I did not belong in the church was
when a Sunday School teacher informed me that only humans had souls, and
therefore that my beloved dog would never be in heaven. Looking in my dog’s
eyes, I could clearly see the falsehood in the teacher’s words. And though I
was later to be baptized in the church, it was, to be honest, an attempt on my
part to be thought of as something other than a wayward child who was beyond
redemption, which was how most of the grownups saw me. But the baptism didn’t
take. I was still the wayward child, and my sinful acts were still dutifully
reported to my parents, most reports beginning with, “That Ronnie… Bless his
heart…”

I
never could accept that a creature as loving as my dog was soul-less, and I
knew that no matter what he did, I could never intentionally inflict upon him
even a moment’s anguish, much less, an eternity of it. And if there was a God,
he would have to be nicer than I, or I (and a lot of other people) would have
been smote with that fire and brimstone a long time ago. In truth, even as a
small child, I couldn’t accept the assertion that a divine being was so emotionally
needy that “he” required absolute agreement, much less universal adulation. And
for a time, I guess I’d have called myself an atheist, had I been aware of the
word. I just didn’t believe anything… except, of course, my own unworthiness. That lesson had been driven home quite
effectively. Unfortunately, the belief that I did indeed deserve my forthcoming
descent into hell lingered, unspoken, but ever-present. And with that
knowledge, I figured that what I did no longer mattered. What was important was
that I not get caught. Hell would come later, so I’d best enjoy whatever I
could get away with now. The only
inhibiting factor was my own aversion to hurting others… unless I believed that
they deserved it. I became my own paradox – a sociopath in training, albeit
with a vestige of a moral compass. The perfect perspective upon which to build
a happy childhood.

And
yet, there were moments when I felt a certainty – deep within me, and in spite
of outward appearances – that there was more to existence than the cynical
picture I could envision. Those moments, spent in solitude, listening to the
whisper of a breeze through the branches of the trees, or gazing silently into
the sky and turning the clouds into galleons or benevolent ghosts, were my transport
from the bleak world I had come to know. It would be many years before I would
learn that those moments, which I sought out with the ardor of a starving
animal, were called Meditation.

Copyright 2007-2010 by Ron Kaye.
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